


The Real Scooby Doo Was The Friends We Made Along The Way

by pearenthusiast



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearenthusiast/pseuds/pearenthusiast
Summary: An in progress VERY out of canon fic, exploring interpersonal relationships, our own personal justifications for our actions, roadside murder, and also just good old fashioned lesbian smut :/





	The Real Scooby Doo Was The Friends We Made Along The Way

_**I-Amazon** _

Dark. Damp. Dirty.

Her backseat was an equatorial jungle. Somewhere uncharted, unfound, unrestricted. Too deep in nature to be “picturesque”, or even more basic just photographed. The only cataloged documentation of its existence was in blurry flyover shots used as B-roll in reality television. Everything from the vines that choke down trees, to the birds adorned with streaking colors, to the frogs coated in deadly neurotoxin, exist at a most primal level, with their only need being survival.

I was a bat. Leaving some rockface cave to do to the one thing I had to do. I was hungry, and hungry not for the blood hidden beneath the bare skin of some sleeping mammal, the squirm of so many tropical insects, or the sugary sweet flesh of an overripe fruit, but hungry for the flowers that bloom in the night. The flowers that wait till dark’s cover to expose their powdery anthers, dusting me with their pollen as I sip the nectar deep in their stems.

The great abundance of the rainforest, with a single tree hosting more life than entire continents, can only be known with first seeing the scarcity of the desert. Here nature’s competition for survival is a one sided game. The desert’s strategies are not the common competition for resources, but competition with resources, life shrinks itself down and stretches to extreme limits, adopting a dogma of conservation to save themselves from the inevitable norm present in their lifeless backdrop of sand and rock.

Here, in this perpetual famine, is where the nature goes to purge. Excess in the desert is planned, calculated to perfection, taking lifetimes to mold the absolute presentation of decadence, the Saguaro. Already they tower high above the flat land and into the sky, growing upwards with arms that reach out, trying to fill up the infinite space around them. These Saguaros grow buds that take years to form, generations to grow, and eons to mature, until finally for one night only, they bloom. The saguaro’s flowers act like stars, growing in size until finally they supernova, bursting forth with white sparks that surround yellow clouds billowing forth around a single stamen soaked in nectar.

Such hedonism brings forth those with desires needing satisfaction. They say bats have such rapid metabolisms they can’t afford to stop flying at risk of losing their chance to feed, and I’ve never been able to relate more.

I was ravenous, going flower to flower, searching for another meal, another stake in the action. I was blind with sensation and my beady eyes failed me. Mouth open and wings spread I went off the heady smell of exclusivity and the sounds of my own screams of hunger resonating around me. Her flesh was my food and her name burst forth from my body, my guiding vibrations, my echolocation, my...

“Daph... Daphne,"

"Yea Velma?"

And I had my meal. 


End file.
